Happier
by Corbenik
Summary: A response for P.L.Wynter's challenge: What if Dean and Sam had Max's childhood.
1. Chapter 1

Well, this is a response for P.L.Wynter's challenge: What if Dean and Sam had Max's childhood. I'll risk it and post this before I know where I'm going with the story.

** Disclaimer: ** I don't own any character's or situations related to the TV show Supernatural.

That said... On to the story.

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Dean ran down a narrow hallway, glancing around the doors he passed. He stopped when the hallway split in three different directions. He stood in the middle of the room, the hallways now went ahead of him, to his right, to his left, and back the way he had come. Panting slightly, he took a couple of deep breaths and began looking around. He felt the frustration inside him grow, Sam needed him and after taking a day to get there, he managed to get lost in the building. 

Suddenly a door opened, and a police officer came out, dragging a man. The man's clothes were disheveled, as was his hair. He kept struggling to get free and kept yelling something that Dean couldn't make out. His words were slurred. He was obviously drunk.

Dean stared at the scene for a moment, lost in memories of his childhood, of his father when he got home after stopping by the regular bar. Dean closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his mouth. He looked up to see the officer and the drunk guy were getting away and ran to catch them.

"Excuse me!" Dean said as he approached the two men. Both of them turned around to look at him.

"Officer, " Dean continued. "I'm looking for my brother. Sam Winchester. He was brought in yesterday."

The officer seemed to think for a moment. Dean interrupted his thoughts. The man the officer had been dragging eyed Dean up and down, before speaking.

"Hey, boy, nice suit." He said smiling, exposing his yellowing teeth. "Have a dollar for the less fortunate?" He added. Dean looked at him with disgust. He hated drunks. He didn't get how anyone could drink to the point of not being able to walk straight, make a full out of himself . . . hurt the ones he should protect. Dean turned to the officer again.

"He's in the visitation room. They told me to follow this corridor, but I got lost." Dean spoke fast, and looked at the man impatiently. The officer pointed to turn left from the corridor he had been following. Dean didn't stop to say thanks, he began running again until he made it to the door the officer had said. He knocked and waited for a few seconds before another officer, this one much older than the one on the hallway, opened the door and let him in.

Once inside, the officer made him leave his suit jacket, and walk through a metal detector. He read him the visitation rules quickly, which Dean didn't pay attention too because, he could see his brother sitting at a table inside the room. He was almost bouncing where he stood as the officer finished reading the rules and let him in.

They were in a big, white room, filled with blue tables and fold out chairs. Sam sat at one of the tables in the far corner of the room. When he heard someone approaching him he lifted his head and his face lit up when he saw Dean. Sam smiled.

Dean smiled back at him but, as he got close, his smile faded. Sam looked awful. There were dark circles under his eyes that seemed to have dark circles under their eyes. He looked too pale, but maybe it was just an optical illusion caused by the bright orange suit his brother was wearing. He also looked skinnier than he had just two days ago. Dean wondered in anger if they had fed him yet.

Noticing Dean's evaluating gaze, Sam spoke before his brother had a chance to comment on it.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I look like crap." Sam said. Dean stopped his inspection to look at his brothers face And nodded with a little smile.

"You look good though, nice suit." Sam added. "College life is good for you." He smiled. Even in the situation he was in, he was really happy for his brother.

Dean looked down, somewhat ashamed by his clothes, he didn't have time to stop by his place to change when Sam called him, it didn't even cross his mind. Dean sat down and stared at his brother for an awkward moment. He had never talked to his brother in circumstances like this. He decided to get straight to the point.

"So, " Dean finally said, with a long sigh. "What happened?" Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat at his brother's question. He looked away from his brother's gaze, turning right, and that's when Dean first noticed the deep purple bruise on the side of his neck.

"What happened?" He asked again, but this time referring to the bruise. Sam turned back to his brother and saw him staring at his neck. He absent mindedly covered the bruise with his left hand.

"I ... " Sam cleared his throat and tried again. "I took my bus after you left me at the station. It was a long drive. Dad wasn't there to pick my up. I took a cab home and he was there..." Sam trailed of, like he was thinking what to say.

"Drunk." It wasn't a question. Dean stared at Sam, glaring, but the glare wasn't directed at his brother.

"Yeah." Sam continued, looking down at his hands over the table. A sad expression on his face. "It was just like before. As if he had never stopped. Like the last 4 years never happened." Sam sighed.

"It's OK, Sammy." Dean said. Sam looked up at him and nodded. "What happened next?" Dean asked. And Sam continued.

"He was sitting in the living room, there was a quarter of a bottle of vodka sitting at the table... " Sam stopped for a moment, Dean was about to say something but then Sam resumed his story. "He just stared at me when I got into the house, and asked where I was, I guess he didn't remember I went to see you. I really didn't want to deal with it, so I just went to my room." Sam looked up to see his brother's reaction. Dean nodded his understanding, he knew how the rest of the story would go.

"I got to my room and locked the door. I was about to begin unpacking when he started pounding on the door." Sam paused again, and Dean knew it had to be bad if his brother had this much trouble talking about it. This wasn't the first time either of them saw their father drunk, they were used to it. "He was really angry about something, he yelled for me to open the door but... " Sam thought for a moment. "I was scared." He said, looking ashamed. "I'm almost 18 fucking years old, but he just raises his voice a little and suddenly I'm eight again." Sam scoffed in a bitter manner.

"What happened next?" Dean asked, his face a mixture of emotions Sam couldn't make out. It was like Dean asked the question, but didn't want to hear the answer.

Sam sighed and looked up to the ceiling. The bright lights on the lamps were diffused by semi transparent white screens, giving the room a hospital-like white glow. Sam leaned back on his chair, his hands behind his head.

The events from the last night played on the inside of his closed eyelids like a homemade movie.

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Author's note: 

Want to know what happened? Read the next chapter XD.

Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam got out of the cab, got his bags and tipped the driver. He stood in the middle of the street, staring at his home.

'Home'. Wasn't 'home' supposed to be a place where you felt safe and loved?. A place you wanted to come back to when you were away?. He picked up his bags and walked to the front door.

As Sam entered the house, his head down looking at the knob and fighting to get out the key, he suddenly froze. Something was wrong. He stood there, trying to figure out what was it. A moment later he knew.

It was the smell. A sweet, penetrating smell clung to the air inside the house. A smell he recognized perfectly, though he hadn't smelled it for almost four years. He didn't have to look up to know what he would find.

He finally freed the key from the knob's power. He closed the door quietly behind him and turned around to look at the dark living room. He could make out his father's silhouette sitting in his big armchair, an empty bottle and a glass sitting at the table. He held the hope his father was passed out in the chair, but he wasn't that lucky.

"Where were you?" His father's voice was deep and emotionless, his words not slurry, he wasn't thaaat drunk. Sam couldn't see his face clearly, it was dark, but he could see the light from the street, the little bit that made it through the window, reflect in his father's eyes.

"I was visiting Dean at Stanford for the weekend, remember?" Sam's voice was even, he didn't want it to quiver, it angered his father when the boys showed fear, but he didn't want it to sound defiant either, that angered him just for the obvious reasons. So he went for a neutral tone.

"Stanford." His father huffed, like the word tasted sour in his mouth. Sam actually loved that word.

'Stanford. Staaanford.' It sounded to him like 'Promised land' must have sound for the Hebrews leaving Egypt. Stanford was the possibility for his brother and him of a life away from their father. A fresh new start. Nothing to fear, nothing to hurt them. A place that offered them a future, the possibility of meeting new people, making friends, having a normal life.

Since Dean had gotten into high school, and seen the programs for different colleges, he had began studying his ass off, and had made Sam do the same. They would get those scholarships even if it meant now sleeping for the next three years.

Dean's hard work had paid off and he had a full scholarship at law school. Sam was a few months from finishing high school, and his grades made it almost certain he'd get one too. He was going to study Journalism. He could picture himself as a great investigator.

Sam was taken from his thoughts by the sound of glass clattering together. His father was pouring himself another glass of what seemed to be cheap vodka, from what little he could see in the dimly lit room. He grabbed his bags, turned to the stairs, and began climbing them to his room.

His father called his name, but he ignored him. He'd talk to him in the morning. With a little luck, his father would be sober then, with a hell of a hang over, and Sam could make him feel guilty for falling back to his drinking after being clean for so long. But right now, he just wanted to go to sleep. The bus ride had been long and he was tired.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam got to his room, and closed the door. He thought for a moment, and without knowing why, he put the look on the door. He threw one of his bags on top of the bed, putting the other on the floor next to the door, and walked to a desk on the far wall of the room, the desk sat under a big window, granting view to the front of the house. He turned on a lamp and emptied his pockets. Keys, cellphone, his wallet and some loose change.

He walked back to the bed and flopped down on it, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them again, and made a strange face as his eyes tried to focus on the blue bag that lied next to him, too close to his face. He backed his head a little to look at the bag, and got up. He opened it and began taking his clothes out, making piles on the bed to put them away later. He had emptied the bag, and was storing it on the high shelve of his closet when he heard his father's steps on the stairs. He stood still, listening, to see if he stopped at his door or went on to his own.

After a few seconds, the knob of his door turned. Noticing the door was locked, his father began jerking it violently. When the door didn't open, he began pounding on it with his hand.

"Sam! I was talking to you, why didn't you stop?" Fuck, that was like ten minutes ago, talk about zoning out.

"Saaam! Open this door, right now." His father yelled in a warning tone. Silence for a few seconds. "Do you hear me?" The pounding continued.

Sam stood next to the closet, paralyzed, staring at the door. He heard his father's voice through the door, but he wasn't listening to the words. He was now a six year old, and he was hiding with Dean in the closet, while his father tried to open the door. Sam was shaking visibly and his brother spoke soothing words to try and calm him down. Suddenly, the closet door was flung open, the brothers startled, looking up to the figure of their father standing over them.

Dean was yanked out of the closet, his father held him by his forearm, screaming at him about a broken plate, or a vase, or something stupid like that. Sam tried to help him, but was thrown to the floor. His father hadn't even turned to him, he had just sent a smack in the general direction of the annoyance. After shaking Dean hard and screaming for a few more minutes, his father had just tossed him off, finally getting all of his frustrations out of his system.

His father told them from time, after a beating, that if they ever said anything, someone would come take them and send each to different foster homes.

When he got a little older, Dean read what he could find about foster homes, thinking it was an empty threat. He was very disappointed to find his father had actually told the truth. While the people that would come for them would be trying to help them, they would probably separate him from Sam. And he couldn't allow that. So, Dean had worn long sleeved shirts to school for two weeks in the middle of May to hide the bruise that had formed in his arm from his teachers.

Sam's little trip down memory lane was interrupted when the pounding on the door stopped. He looked at the door, taking a careful step forward, when suddenly there was a loud bang on the door. His father was slamming his body against it trying to force it open.

Sam paced around the room, holding closed fists to his temples, his eyes shut tightly. He was so tired of this. A part of him wanted to open up that door and face his father, he was so tired of being scared. The other part wanted to crawl into his bed and curl into fetal position.

As he walked around the room, his fear and anger raising, he saw the lights of the room flicker violently. He turned to the ceiling to see the lamps, the lights shone brightly on, nothing wrong with them. Sam stared at them in confusion for a second before he heard a rattling sound from the other side of the room. He turned to see his keys and the coins, shaking on top of the desk, like they had life of their own.

"Oh, please, not now." Sam pleaded to the empty room. He heard the door finally give, and turned to see his father standing a little inside the door. His face was a mask of pure rage. He approached his son, and Sam took a step back with everyone he took forward. Sam's retreat was stopped by the wall. And he just stared down at his father, he was afraid, but he didn't want it to show. He stood still waiting for his father to talk.

"Didn't you hear me calling you?" His father asked, he was pissed. "Didn't you hear my gentle knocking on the door?" John asked, and Sam would have snorted at his father's sarcasm if he wasn't too scared to move. "You still live in my house. I am you father, I raised you, and you will show some fucking respect!." His father poked his chest with a finger. Sam's anger was fast surpassing his fear. He glared down at his father, knowing his height made him mad, and spoke in an even, defiant tone that he would regret later. "You may be my father, but you sure as hell didn't raise me. Your four year old son took your place as a father the day mom died and you began drinking your ass off." John's eyes widened with fury at his son's insolence. "You didn't raise me, Dean did." Sam added. A little of his self confidence escaping him at the sight of his father's face, contorted in anger.

"How dare you?" Sam's father voice was a low growl. His closed fists shook at his sides. "I lost everything because of you. But I fed you and put a roof over your head you ungrateful little shit. You killed your mother. YOU KILLED MY MARY! " John screamed, and Sam jumped. His father's face close to his, his alcoholic breath made Sam sick.

"Mom died in a fire, it was an accident." Sam said the line like he had it practiced. This wasn't the first time his father said something like that. It had taken many years of Dean telling him otherwise for Sam to lose the guilt his father had tried to burn into his brain. "I didn kill her." Sam said in a low whisper.

"Yes, you did." His father retorted, angrily. "Missouri told me."

"Who?" Sam stared at his father with a strange look. Apparently that vodka was kicking in.

"Missouri. She knows." His father said without looking at him. "She told me the truth. Someone finally told me the truth." Sam didn't know if his father was still talking to him. He seemed to be reliving a conversation he'd had earlier. "She told me what you are." John looked at his son with disgust. Sam just tried to make sense of what his father was telling him. "She told me how the thing that took your mother was really after you." Sam's eyes widened at that.

Missouri, whoever he or she was, somehow knew about him. About the things he could do. 'What you are'. What else could his father be referring to? This Missouri person must have been talking about the dreams and the things moving by themselves. He had always had dreams of his mother. Pinned to the ceiling, her stomach cut open, blood dripping, and then she was engulfed by the flames. He had them before Dean had told him about his mother's death. He knew his mother's death wasn't an accident. But he never thought it was his fault. He had believed it for a while, because his father told him it was since he was a child. But Dean had convinced him it wasn't true. And Dean didn't lie. Not to him, anyway.

"I wish It had taken you instead of her. I wish she hadn't been trying to save you." Sam looked back at his father. "I would have her with me now, instead of a disrespectful, good for nothing fuck like you!" His father suddenly grabbed him by the neck with his right hand, shoving him against the wall before pulling him by his throat and throwing him on the floor. Sam didn't have time to think before his father kicked him on the stomach. The blow made him curl about himself, covering his stomach with his arms. He gasped for air.

"Why her and not you?" His father said as he kicked him again. Sam couldn't think straight from the pain he felt on his ribs. "Why?" His father kept going. "WHY?"

"Stop." Sam pleaded. "Stop it." His father didn't stop. Suddenly Sam had enough. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He wouldn't take this anymore. "STOP!" Sam screamed, rolling to his back and kicking his father off of him.

John stumbled back a couple of steps. Sam slowly got to his feet, an arm wrapped around his ribs. His breathing came in quick pants. His father looked at him in disbelief.

"Murderer." John spoke again. He seemed a little calmer by the shock of Sam fighting back. "All this time, you lived in my house, and I had no idea." He said.

"I didn't kill her." Sam answered. He was trying to convince himself more than his father.

"Murderer!" John screamed, charging at his son.

"I DIDN'T KILL HER" Sam matched his father's volume, closing his eyes, bracing for the blow.

But it never came. Instead he heard the sound of the window breaking, and a rain of glass pieces falling to the ground. He opened his eyes to see his father was gone. He looked around, confused. His father was there a second and the next he wasn't.

He tentatively walked to the broken window. After reaching it, he looked down.

His father lay in the grass in front of the house, glass shards all around him. His eyes were wide open, looking into emptiness, his legs bent at awkward angles. He wasn't moving.

Sam's looked down, hypnotized by the sight of his dead father. He heard a woman scream and saw the neighbor across the street standing in front of her house. She ran inside, screaming for someone, probably her husband.

Sam turned around, feeling like he was on auto pilot. He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. He shuddered violently. He looked up at the window again and saw his cellphone shine at him under the lamp's light.

He got up slowly and walked to the desk. He grabbed the phone with a trembling hand and dialed a number. After a couple rings, someone answered at the other end.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was a shaky whisper and he didn't have to say anything else.

"Sammy?" His brother's voice was immediately filled with concern. "What happened?"

"I need you." Sam said, looking up as he heard the sirens. "I need you." He repeated, his voice breaking, and he hung up. He sat at the bed again and waited for the police to arrive.

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Author's Note: I got a little carried away with this chapter, I wonder if it was too much drama. Please let me know what you think. 

I didn't know schools didn't attend in July so lets change it to say...uhmmm...May :P


	4. Chapter 4

Back at the community jail's visitation room, Dean sat with his elbows propped on top of the table, listening to Sam finish his story. He had an outraged look on his face, but didn't say anything or interrupt his brother. Sam leaned back on his chair and sighed deeply, and Dean knew he was done.

"Well, " Dean cleared his throat before continuing. "So, Dad killed himself?" He asked. He seemed somewhat relieved by that idea.

Sam shook his head in a negative gesture. "I threw him out. I pushed him out the window." Sam said, looking down. Dean was confused, Sam hadn't mentioned the dancing keys or change, or his new found power, he'd get to that in a moment.

"I thought you said you were standing in the middle of the room, you had your eyes closed and when you opened them, Dad had jumped out the window." Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I didn't say he jumped out the window." Sam replied " I just said when I opened my eyes he was gone. But he didn't jump." Sam added. " I wanted him to be gone. I willed him to be gone, and when I opened my eyes he was." Sam said, guilt written on his face.

"Sam. It wasn't your fault." Dean said. "How can it be your fault? You didn't even touch him." He paused for a moment. "And even if you _had _thrown him out the window, it still wouldn't be your fault. He is the only one to blame for this. And that's how the judge will see it at your court hearing when I'm done with them." Dean's voice was confident, but he wished he was as sure as he sounded.

Damn, he was so worried they'd take his brother away. This was all his fault. He had left Sam alone with their father. He thought John was for real this time, he had been clean for close to four years. Maybe Dean just wanted so bad to believe it so he could go to Stanford. Dean really thought they could make it. They were so close, six more months and Sam would get into Stanford, they'd live together, away from their father. Why did this have to happen now?. Why did this have to happen at all?. Dean took a deep breath to ease his worries a little.

He didn't think any judge would convict his little brother for defending himself. He was a minor, even if it was just for a couple more months, an abused minor. He really hoped the judge was a woman. If a woman judge pictured her own children being beat by an abusive father, Sam would be out, free of charges and on time to get breakfast.

"But I did throw him through the window." Sam continued, he had a weird emotion showing on his face. Dean couldn't quite grasp it. It looked like Sam wanted to be punished for killing his dad.

"Sam." Dean sounded annoyed. "How could you have done that?" He looked right into Sam's eyes to know he was listening. "Dad weighed at least twice as much as you do, its a good 6 feet from the center of the room to the window. You'd have to be like... 400 pounds of pure muscle to do something like that, and forgive me, but you don't look like a candidate for World's Strongest Men." Dean smiled, trying to joke to lighten his brother's mood. But Sam wasn't amused.

"I didn't do it with my hands." Sam continued. "I did it with my mind." He looked up to see Dean's reaction at that. Sure enough, Dean was giving him a weird look, like he thought he had lost it.

"With your mind." Dean repeated in a skeptical tone, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah." Sam whispered, looking down. "It started about 5 months ago." He continued, and Dean stared at him. Sam was serious?.

"I fell asleep doing a paper. An important one. I woke up and I had only two hours to finish it." Sam paused. "I was typing away like crazy, just trying to finish it on time, when this little alert 'the program caused an unexpected error and will be closed' appeared." Sam snorted.

"Yeah, I hate those." Dean smiled. Sam continued. "I was just so stressed out. I thought I could loose my chance for a scholarship because of this paper. I was just staring at my computer screen when suddenly everything on the desk flew off."

"What do you mean 'flew off'" Dean asked, apparently interested now.

"Exactly what I said. Flew off. All the little objects, pens, pencils, paper, CDs. Everything just flew off the desk in different directions. Like when you aim a leaf blower to a pile of leaves." Sam replied.

"Are you sure you weren't hallucinating from sleep deprivation or something?" Dean asked amused. Sam glared at him and Dean stopped. He didn't mean to sound patronizing.

"No, it happened." Sam said. "It happened because it happened again a few days later. It's been happening again for the last five months."

"OK. I believe you, Sammy." Dean believed his brother believed it. He could see his brother's guilty expression. "Do you have any control over it?." Dean asked. Sam just shook his head. "Can you tell when it's going to happen?." Again Sam gestured a negative. "Can you do anything to keep it from happening?." Sam just stared at his brother, he didn't know what he was getting at. Seeing Sam's confusion, Dean explained.

"Even if you pushed him out the window with you 'freaky mind powers', " Dean said the last part making quote signs with his fingers. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't control it, and dad was hitting you. You were just defending yourself. " Dean said with a final tone that meant he didn't want anyone to say otherwise.

Sam was glad his brother was there, but he was a little surprised at how his brother didn't seem to care their father was dead.

"I hated him." Sam confessed. "I feared him, and I hated him, and I couldn't wait to get away." Dean nodded. "But I didn't want him dead." Sam said, looking up to meet his brother's eyes.

"He wasn't always like that." Sam continued. "He was trying to change. He really wanted to change for us." Sam said, and Dean scoffed. Sam looked at his brother with sadness, and a little pity. Dean only knew the drunken John Winchester. He had only bad memories of him. But Sam had been there to see him sober the last 4 years. "He said something about a Missouri." Sam remembered. "He talked to someone named Missouri that day. He was told something that upset him enough to make him drink again." Dean scoffed again, and Sam lifted his head to look at him

"He just wanted an excuse to drink again." Dean sounded angry. "People don't just change. I don't know how I could just trust him with you." Dean looked down.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean." Sam replied quickly. "You couldn't know." Dean looked up.

"Just like you couldn't either." Dean said, and Sam felt like he had been tricked. "Neither of us is to blame here. Do you understand?" Dean asked.

"I guess." Sam said, not very convinced.

"That's not what I want to hear." Dean asked with authority in his voice, but his face showed he was joking.

"Yes, I understand." Sam said, with a genuine smile.

Dean was satisfied with that. Seeing their time was almost up, he got back to business mode.

"OK. I'm glad we've got that straight." He said. "Now, your hearing is in two days. I got them to move it forward so you wouldn't have to stay here until next week." Dean said. "Did you tell the police anything when they got there?" Sam shook his head.

" You always tell me that if I get in any trouble, you know, real trouble, to say nothing and call you." Dean nodded and smiled. He was worried Sam had told them he threw their father out the window, like he had just told him.

"OK. Are you going to be all right here for the next two days?." Dean asked, a little apologetically.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Sam smirked slightly. "The other kids are afraid of me. You know, 'freaky mind powers' " He said, with what sounded like pride.

"Oh, right, you're the king of OZ" He smiled. "Got yourself a couple bitches yet?" Dean asked, and Sam laughed.

The officer that had been standing next to the door all this time, approached them to tell them their time was up. Dean nodded and turned to his brother.

"Well, you just hang in there. I'll get you out of here in no time." Dean stood up at the same time as Sam, and hugged his brother. He put a hand on his shoulder and added. "I'll come back tomorrow to see how you're doing." He said, Sam nodded. The police officer came to take him back to his cell and Dean watched them until they crossed the doors.

Dean got to the office where he had to leave his jacket, got his stuff and left. He had work to do.

This shouldn't be too hard. Sam was a minor, acting in self defense, and if he had told the truth, and Dean didn't have any reason to suspect otherwise, the police would find no evidence to suspect Sam had pushed his father through the window. The case looked easy. Dean felt a lot more optimist about things, but wouldn't risk losing his brother. He would consider every possible little thing that could jeopardize their case. He remembered what his brother had said... "Missouri." Dean mouthed to himself.

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Author's Note: How are you liking it so far: ) I thought of the ending last night. I think I'll finish the story today. This is an addiction XD.

Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean sat in his old room's bed. Man, he hated this place. He put down the phone book he had been searching through and sighed in frustration. He had read the white pages back and forth three times and couldn't find any Missouris.

He didn't really know what he expected to find from this Missouri person. Maybe they could tell him what was his father so upset about, or maybe he just wanted someone to state that his father had been upset when he got home, so he had more in court to prove he had attacked his brother than just his word. He had to make him seem a like a violent man in the courtroom. He _was _a violent man, but there were no police reports, no neighbors to corroborate that.

He had made sure of it himself since he was little. He didn't want his brother to be taken away from him. He was very careful no one ever knew what happened inside the house. Not his teachers, not his neighbors, not his friends, not anyone.

Suddenly, Dean had an idea. What if his father didn't know Missouri before that night?. That meant he had either been told by a friend about him/her, or he had seen some sort of advertising pointing it to them. He took the giant book back and started flipping through the yellow pages. He almost didn't see the small square frame at the bottom of one of the pages. It was very discreet, Dean wondered if Missouri didn't have enough money to put on a big ad or he/she just didn't want that many customers.

Dean read the top of the page to see what kind of service he was seeing and a surprised look covered his face when he did. "Psychics?" He scoffed. "Why would dad go to a psychic?" The ad had no phone number, just an address. Dean got up and took the jacket he had borrowed from Sam's room. He left the house holding a yellow paper sheet crumpled in his hand.

* * *

Dean stopped in front of a warm, inviting looking house. He straightened out the crumpled piece of paper to read the address again and, after confirming this was the right place, he got out of the car and walked the few steps up to the door. He was about to knock when the door opened. A short, black woman stood in the doorway, looking at him.

"Hi, " Dean started. "I'm..."

"I know who you are Dean." She cut him off, smiling at his widening eyes. "I was expecting you. Please, come in." She stepped aside to let him in, and he complied.

Missouri led him to a little living room. He was distracted looking around at the weird things laid around the room, and got his head caught in the web like design the tied strings with wooden counts hanging from the door way made.

He got free from the web's evil grip and glared back at it before turning to see Missouri sitting in an armchair in front of the little coffee table in the center of the room. There was a couch next to the table and Dean sat down. He stared at her in silence for a moment, wondering what should he ask her. 'Hey, did you do something to piss my dad off two days ago and sent him home to beat his 17 year old son?.' No, that didn't sound appropriate. Missouri cleared his throat before speaking.

"Your dad was a very angry, very sad man, honey." She said. He opened his mouth to say something but she spoke again. "He suffered a terrible loss, and he couldn't understand why." She continued. "He came to me four days ago. He had been thinking about your mother's death a lot lately." She sighed. "He told me he knew her death wasn't an accident, and took me to your house while Sam was with you in California." She paused for a moment.

Dean stared at her. "Who are you?." He asked after a moment. She looked at him, surprised she hadn't seen that coming.

"Oh, where are my manners, I'm sorry. My name is Missouri Mosely." She introduced herself. "Can I get you anything? Would you like some coffee, dear?." She asked.

"Yeah, some coffee would be nice, thanks." Missouri got up and left Dean alone in the room to sort out his thoughts. This woman knew who he was but he had never seen her before in his life. She knew about his mother's death. Would his father just come to a stranger and spill his guts like that?.

He had been told his mother died in a fire, an accident. But he knew otherwise. Though he was only four years old at the time, he could still see the image of his mother on the ceiling if he closed his eyes. He had tried to attribute it to his childish imagination, but the image was too clear to have been imagined.

Missouri entered the room carrying a tray with two cups of coffee. She set it in the table and sat down. Dean reached for one of the cups and took a sip.

"So, " Dean began. "Missouri. What is it exactly you do?" He asked, trying to understand what his father could have wanted from her.

"Well, what did the yellow pages say, boy?" She asked amused. "I'm a psychic. I'll read your palm and tell you your future." She said.

"Really?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Of course not, honey." She laughed. "Things don't work that way." She took a sip of her coffee and continued. "I catch some of people's thoughts. I sense energies. That sort of thing. Your father came to me because he wanted to know what took your mother." She was serious now.

"And could you?" Dean asked her. "Tell her what took our mother?" He completed.

"No." She sighed. "It was too long ago to tell." She explained. "There were some remnants of it in the house, even after all this years, but not enough to be sure what it was." Dean sighed too. He didn't know what he expected to hear. Maybe he just wanted a 'why'. Like his father had.

"I did, however, find another interesting kind of energy in your house." She added, and Dean looked up.

"What?." He asked.

"Your brother's." She answered. "That boy is very gifted. His presence, his energy, could be felt in his room even though he wasn't there." She added.

Dean looked at her, surprised. Sam had been telling the truth about his 'freaky mind powers'. And this woman knew about them.

"The thing that killed your mother, honey, it was after your brother." Missouri said. Dean opened his mouth and closed it several times. Now things made sense. He tried to control his anger as he talked.

"And that his what you told my dad." He stated. Glaring at her.

"I'm so sorry about your dad, honey." Missouri apologized. "I didn't know he would react like that." Dean scoffed.

"I thought you were supposed to be a psychic." He said. Missouri didn't like his tone, but she understood.

"It doesn't work like that, dear." She defended. "I couldn't have known your dad would do what he did, because _he_ didn't know what he would do." She explained. Dean turned away, he was still angry, but it made sense. "I just wanted him to know that his wife died to save something very precious. Something she didn't mind dying to protect." Missouri smiled.

Dean lifted his head and looked at his watch. He had a little more than 24 hours before Sam's hearing. He stood up.

"Well, this has been very enlightening." He said, in a sarcastic manner. "I'd like to stay and chat, but I have a lot to do." Missouri nodded.

"Of course you do, honey." She said. "Don't worry. Your brother will be fine." She said has she walked him to the door.

"Thanks." He said. He didn't like the revelations he had just heard, he didn't want to believe it. But he didn't think she just wanted to torture him. She was a nice lady actually. "Thanks for the coffee." Dean said, much calmer. "Maybe I'll come back some other time." He smiled.

"That would be nice, dear. You're welcome anytime." Dean thanked her again and walked to his car. He turned once more before getting in and she waved goodbye.

This had been no help to his case. But it explained many things Dean had wondered through his life. He would come back to talk to Missouri again if he had the chance.

* * *

Author's Note: Where I live, the phonebook has a section with whithe pages for particular phone's and another with yellow pages for publicity and ads. I don't know if its the same in the USA. So if it's not, now you know what it meant.

Please review.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam sat quietly in a table facing the high platform where the judge sat. Dean had been very pleased to find the judge was a woman. Sam fidgeted with his tie nervously, and Dean told him to stop looking guilty. Sam took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down and eased into his seat.

"Good." Dean said. "Don't worry. The prosecutor has nothing more than the neighbors declaration. And she didn't say she thought you killed him." Dean said to his brother in a low voice. Sam turned to look at the man sitting on the other table.

The prosecutor was a man in his mid forties. He wore glasses and had a gesture that made Sam think he was permanently smelling something disgusting. Sam could tell he was one of those adults who thought young people should be disciplined strictly to guide them the right way. Sam knew he thought he was a juvenile murderer.

The judge opened a folder in front of her and skimmed through the papers. She raised her eyes at the two boys sitting on the table in the right and spoke in a loud and clear voice.

"Mr. Winchester. Dean." She cleared. "Would you like to tell me what happened." She asked.

Dean got up. "Yes your honor." He paused. "I got a call from my brother four days ago, asking for my help. I got here to find he had been arrested and charged with my father's murder." The judged nodded and Dean continued. "I saw my brother the next day and talked to him. He told me he got home after visiting me, and found our father drunk in the living room. He went to his room, to where my father followed and attacked him." The judge turned to look at Sam. He looked at her in the eye and then looked down. "After my brother managed to get him off of himself, and get up, he thought my father would continue his assault." Dean took a pause to make sure he wasn't going too fast. He was nervous. His first case was the most important of his life. The judge motioned with his hand for him to continue and he did so. "Instead, my father either jumped out the window, I believe, after realizing what he was doing. Or in his inebriated state stumbled back and fell through it." Dean concluded and sat down.

"There are no reports suggesting an abusive behavior before from your father this particular incident, Mr. Winchester." The judge said.

Dean stood again. "I know your honor. It was just the three of us after my mother died." He paused. "There were no relatives or close friends to report him." He explained. "We were just kids." he added, and he noticed some sort of emotion cross the judge's face. It lasted only an instant, but he knew he had seen it. He kept his face straight though he wanted to smile. He bet she was a mother.

"There are no reports to suggest any violent behavior by your brother either." She seemed to be talking to herself. "It seems he is a good student." She added.

The prosecutor stood up at that and spoke in an outraged voice, though keeping his volume down. "Your honor, the police found a footprint in the front of the late John Winchester's body, the footprint matching his son's shoe pattern. It is clear the defended kicked his father out the window." The judge looked at Dean, her eyebrows raised, urging him to explain. The prosecutor seemed pleased.

"Your honor." Dean responded as he got up again. "The police also examined the room, and while they found footprints of my brother near the window, it _is _his room." Dean explained. "Their experts determined that if he had kicked my father as Mr. Lewis says it is so obvious he did, there would have been a print on the floor indicating so. My brother would have had to run towards my father, stand in one foot and kick him with the other, leaving a single footprint on the floor much different than the ones he made by just walking around." Dean finished and sat down.

Sam stared at his brother, wanting to smile, but kept a serious face. He was incredibly proud of Dean. He would make an amazing lawyer one day.

The judge turned to the prosecutor. "Is this true Mr. Lewis." The judge asked. And the prosecutor stood up to reply.

"Technically yes your honor. But it is also possible that Mr. Winchester's son erased said print after seeing he had killed his father." Mr. Lewis sounded taken by surprise. Dean put his head down and smirked. This man had underestimated him. He had seen his opponent was a kid, not even 6 months out of law school, and thought the case was a given. He had only counted on the footprint in John's body to prove Sam's guilt. Dean had done his homework, he had read the police report, talked to the crime scene experts, talked to the neighbors, to the officer that arrested Sam, anything that could help his brother. He hadn't slept in 36 hours, but his investigation was paying off. Sam would win this case.

"The police found nothing suggesting that, you honor. Mr. Lewis is speculating." Dean stood up. "I'd also like to add that my father's body showed cuts on his hands and forearms, indicating that he passed through the window with his arms before him. My brother would have had to either lift my 215 pound father, or my father jumped through it and used his arms to cover his face." Dean looked at the prosecutor, who sat in his chair glaring at him, a vein in his forehead seemed about to explode.

Dean looked back at the judge. The judge looked at Sam, apparently trying to calculate the odds of the skinny boy sitting in from of her throwing a 200 pound man through a window. "We'll take a small recess while I review the case files and the evidence pointed to me by Mr. Winchester. I'll see you back here in an hour." The judge slammed the little wooden hammer down, and stood to leave. Dean, Sam and the prosecutor stood up as she left. An officer came to take Sam back to custody. Dean smiled a reassuring smile at him and Sam left with the officer.

Dean sat in a bench outside the courthouse, staring at his watch as the minutes passed mockingly slow. He had his right and to his mouth, and was nibbling at his nails. He stopped several times, when he realized he was doing it, but after a couple of minutes he would do it again. An eternity later, only five minutes before the indicated time, Dean got up and walked back to the court room. He went in just as the officer brought Sam back. Mr. Lewis sat at his table, going through the case files. 'A little late' Dean thought victoriously , but reminded himself that this was not over yet. A few minutes later, the judge returned. She glanced around the room, and sat down.

They all stood in place, waiting to hear the verdict.

"I've reviewed the files from the crime lab and the police report. Given there is nothing to present Mr. Sam Winchester as a violent person, his father's state when the police found him and the evidence processed by the crime lab, I've determined Mr. John Winchester went through his son's room window on his own, either accidentally or intentionally. I assume, you've filed a request to be your brother's legal guardian given you have no close family?" The judge asked looking at Dean.

"Yes your honor, I have." Dean answered quickly.

"Then I'm releasing him into your custody, free of any charge." She turned to Sam. "Mr. Winchester, you are free to go." She slammed the little hammer again, the prosecutor was about to protest but she was already leaving.

Sam turned to Dean, excited. "That was awesome." He clapped his brother's shoulder. "You were amazing." Dean let out a deep breath.

"Are you kidding me? I was about to soil myself." Dean joked. He turned to his brother, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Let's just go home. I'm sleeping for the next 24 hours."

They walked together out of the courthouse. Sam was grinning like an idiot next to his brother. Dean turned to look at him and smiled. They got to the car and drove off.

* * *

Author's Note: It's not over yet. I'm writing an epiloge. But at least now you can stop worrying ; ) Please let me know what you think of this chapter. If I used the wrong word to refer to something please let me know.  



	7. Chapter 7

Dean ate and talked at the same time, looking down at his plate. He was really hungry. The food tasted like glory to him, he rarely ever got the chance to sit down, relax and enjoy a good meal.

It had been a year and a half since their father's death. Sam had finished high school and gotten the scholarship at Stanford. They had sold the house in Kansas and Sam moved to California. They bought a small apartment close to Stanford, though Dean had finished his career two years ago. He had began working at a known law firm. Nothing big, just reviewing case files and interviewing witnesses, but things seemed to be improving, his boss praised him regularly and noticed his hard work. Sam began school six months after the court ordeal, and now worked at The Stanford Daily.

Dean looked up from his plate after noticing Sam wasn't paying attention. "Hey!" He called. Sam turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry. What were you saying?" Sam asked. Dean sighed in frustration, he had been talking non stop for the last 5 minutes.

"I was telling you how my boss said I saved our asses by noticing the date difference between the evidence bags and the report the lab sent. They were tampering with the evidence, and the judge dismissed the charges." Dean repeated. "He was even talking about a raise and giving me an office." Dean said, proudly.

Sam watched his brother as he spoke. He smiled. He couldn't remember a time of his life he had been happier. Things had finally fallen into place in their lives. They had a place where they were safe. Their jobs were both promising, they had friends, Sam loved school. He didn't think things could get better than this.

"That's great, man." Sam replied. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Dean looked back down at his plate. "I was thinking we could go celebrate tomorrow night. Go somewhere and pick up some chicks." Dean said, covering his full mouth with his hand as he talked. He had raised his head and wiggled his eyebrows but, again, Sam wasn't listening.

Sam was staring somewhere behind his brother. His eyes fixed. Dean heard a loud laugh and saw Sam smile, still staring somewhere over his shoulder. He turned around to see what was so interesting and found the source of the laugh.

A beautiful blond girl in a white top and jeans sat two tables behind them. She had her head tilted back, while she let out a rich and loud laugh. She clutched her stomach as she laughed at something her friend must have said. The other girl, a brunette, was hot, but the blond had something special about her.

Dean turned back to his brother. Sam hadn't moved, he seemed hypnotized by the sight before him.

"Sammy!" Dean snapped his finger's in front of his brother's face. Sam turned to look at him startled.

"What?" He asked. Looking back over Dean's shoulder. Dean turned to see the girl was sitting upright again, rubbing tears from her eyes as she sighed. She turned to the brother's, catching them staring, and looked back at her friend. She said something, leaning towards the other girl and whispering, and her friend turned to look at them. The blond grabbed her by the arm and turned her back around to face her, covering her face obviously embarrassed. Dean turned back to his brother.

"She's hot." Dean said to Sam, getting his attention. "Why don't you go over and talk to her."

"What?." Sam's eyes widened. "N-no, I wouldn't know what to say..." He stammered. Dean sighed and stood up. He surrounded the table and grabbed Sam's chair, pulling him and the chair back. He then tilted the chair forwards, forcing Sam to stand up. "Come on, don't be a wuss, get over there." Dean commanded, grabbing Sam's shoulders and shoving him in the direction of the girls table.

Sam stumbled a couple of steps towards them, stopping to turn and glare at his brother, who sat back down at the table finishing his food, feigning innocence.

Sam turned to see the girls were staring at him. He straightened up, clearing his throat and walked to their table. Dean watched him and smiled. Sam walked up to the girls, who talked to one another pretending not to notice Sam approaching them. Dean saw Sam tell them something and then point to the table he was seating on. Both girls turned to Dean and he turned quickly to his plate pretending to eat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the brunette girl stand up, and walk to his table. He looked up when she stopped next to him.

"Hi there. I'm Carla." She said in a cheerful voice. "Your brother told me you've been checking me out but you were too shy to come say hello." She said. Dean's eyes widened and he turned to glare at his brother, but Sam was already sitting at the blond's table, talking to her. Dean smiled , he sighed and invited the brunette to sit down.

Sam and the blond girl were talking and laughing. They stared at each other as if they were alone in the restaurant. After a while they walked to Dean and Carla's table, and they all left together.

Sam was wrong, he had no idea what 'happy' was, neither did he know how much happier his life with this girl would be. He would treasure his memories of her and the next three years as the best of his life.

The End.

* * *

Author's Note: If you caught that, I said 'the next three years'. By that I mean that Jessica will be killed be the demon anyway, because I believe it will still come for Sam. So Jess will die, and Sam and Dean will go hunting for it, because some things just don't change. There! I finished! XD. I hope you liked it, please review and let me know what you thought. 

Oh, yeah, almost forgot. I want to thank deeple anyone who took their time to read or review this story :P


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